


Something Cognitive

by Auraspirit157



Series: _The Anarchy of It [3]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Part 3, insane Defalt is insane, sorry no smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auraspirit157/pseuds/Auraspirit157
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What a rat wonders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Cognitive

Defalt wakes cold.

 

And sore for that matter. There is a aching, particularly enflamed pain that picks at his shoulder like electricity. He sits up, without a shirt, though his mentioned shoulder is wrapped tightly in bandages.

 

Ah, that’s right, he was shot. That was around, what? A week and a half? Perhaps two. He didn’t care really.

 

What comes to his attention the most is the lack of warmth from another being, like there had been a couple hours ago. The sheets are crumbled up and tossed around as evidence of the fact.

 

“Why are you always running away?” The hacker speaks to himself as he does, finding himself to be the only one worthy of conversation _with_ himself most of the time. Aiden, The Vigilante, is the only other one he’s spent a large amount of time talking to openly. There was the girl too, Clara, but she is dead isn’t she?

 

He gets up finding himself, rather sporadically, agitated by Aiden’s absence. Why _does_ he always run away? Why doesn’t he stay longer? Does he _have_ to skitter back to whatever fox den he crouches in?

 

Defalt stands, freezing for a moment. Why does he even care?

 

“I don’t care,” He speaks again to himself, “…I’ll kill him next time.”

 

But as he says the words they fizzle into nothing in his mind. That is absolutely the last possible thing he wants to do. How _dare_ he say that? Why did he even think of it?

 

“Because, idiot, I should,” he leans against the dresser, looking at the bright-eyed young man that looks back at him, “It will be fun, right?”

 

He could practically hear the reflection say no, see it shake its head.

 

Defalt moves away, “Fucker…” He says as if the image is a real entity, “I should. I’m…I’m bored of him.”

 

That is a lie.

 

“Well why not?” He argues with his own thoughts, then huffs, realizing quite late how he won’t get an answer and goes to his desk, a hand gazing leather.

 

Aiden must have left his jacket—wait, that doesn’t happen.

 

He looks down, seeing his own sweatshirt hanging off the chair. He pulls it off, staring at his stage name engrained into it. It isn’t even _made_ of leather.

 

With quickness he immediately regretted, the hacker slips it on, dropping down in front of the computer and pulling on his headset. His third album has topped the Billboard charts for the fifth week in a row. It is always nice to see so many with a good taste in music. He needs to make more, though. He needs a distraction.

 

He fiddles around with the sound equipment, inching knobs and tunes, experimenting, formulating as usually but…there is nothing. Most of the time he could feel it in him, some king in him commanding the rhythms to be made. Now there is just an empty kingdom in his mind, it has been mutinied.

 

He pulls the headset down, staring at the mess of song that meant nothing to him. It is Aiden. That’s what it is.

 

He shakes his head, continuing to force it, trying to pull through the foggy remnants of his face, his voice and touch.

 

Stopping for a moment he listens, the music so far having a decent beat. He leans back, letting it flood into him. It is quick, the notes sneaking in from all different angles, attacking with full force…

 

Just like Aiden…

 

Defalt suddenly, forcibly throws the headset off his head with a short intake of breath. He stares as the beat continues to play distantly.

 

What is wrong with him? He cannot even do something as easy and mindless as creating music without thinking of him!

 

He pulls up from the desk, stepping away as if the song is toxic. How is it even possible that one man could incite this much… _emotion_ in him? Aiden is nothing. _Nothing_ to him. He can’t be. No. Not at all.

 

The hacker’s thoughts pull back to that night when he was shot. He didn’t plan the shooting, but he found it a marvelous opportunity to fuck with the Vigilante even more, play with his fragile heart.

 

Little did he know how broken it was. The way he shouted his name when he didn’t answer, the way he gripped the table hard enough to snap it.

 

The way he looked at him when he answered him. Those irritating, fucking _gorgeous_ green eyes…

 

Defalt rips the headset from the computer, throwing it across the room and slamming the laptop closed to shut down the continuously beating song.

 

He shouldn’t care how pretty his face is. He is dangerous. He could kill him.

 

But he didn’t. He hasn’t. He _cares_ about him.

 

Why? Why would he care about him? The Fox doesn’t care about anything or anyone but his fucking family. And that’s gone, run off somewhere. How could he possibly break enough to love _him_ of all people? It could have been anyone but he is the one that he got the fairy tale spark from.

 

That shouldn’t matter, though.

 

He can kill him. He is weak, trusting of him. He could shoot him, or stab him, or not any of that because he doesn’t fucking want to.

 

What?

 

 

No, this can’t happen. He is losing control. That. Can’t. Happen. It _won’t_ happen. It’s the power struggle…that must be why they are attracted. Of course. It’s the only logical kind of love.

 

Defalt moves across the living room to the kitchen. Despite the blood being cleaned off days ago he can still smell the disinfectant. Aiden slaughtered those men to save him. He killed hundreds to avenge one little girl. How much is he wiling to do for him?

 

It shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

But it shouldn’t.

 

The hacker curses, slamming several dishes from the counter, the shattering chimes breaking the silence. He likes the sound…that beautiful, disrupting sound.

 

He throws a cup across the room, the glass splashing onto the floor, his mind whirring with thoughts of Aiden and the gunshot and music.

 

He wonders, suddenly, randomly, what Aiden is thinking. What does he dream of? Does he linger in his mind? He has to…because of what happened.

 

Maybe this was his plan.

 

Maybe he wants to kill him.

 

The hacker looks up, hearing the door unlock.

 

His breath hitches; thoughts beating against him like a drum. His hand skids across the counter, his fingers curling around a knife.

 

That’s it…no…yes.

 

With tightened muscles he darts blindly forward with a staggered cry at the shadow that appears. He hits nothing. The hacker continues slashing and stabbing at the mass with echoing beats in his head, fragmented rage and confusion over himself. Words escape him, stuttered curses and frustrated ideas bloom from his faded reason.

 

In an instant, _everything_ solidified.

His wrist is seized; his breath breaks as he’s slammed against the wall.

 

Aiden presses his forearm against his chest. Those eyes…those annoying, fucking green eyes cold and dark and beautiful.

 

He speaks slowly, “Drop it.”

 

His voice is music to him. But why, in a momentary thought, is he still here? Alive?

 

With slow realization Defalt understands the situation. He tried to kill the man he has been fretting over. He is still standing though.

 

“Defalt.” Aiden speaks again, sternly, “Drop the knife.”

 

The younger man freezes, feeling the surprisingly overwhelming weight of Aiden’s body against him. But he himself feels like he’s falling into some unknown emotions that he could practically see incarcerate him in some intangible prison without _control._

His fingers lax; the knife clatters to the floor between them.

 

And his barrier, his kingdom, falls all at once.

 

He sinks, feeling Aiden’s presence follow him as his knees hit the floor, tears staining his face but hears no cries. He pushes his head against Aiden’s jacket, his voice choked as he laughs through the cries.

 

“I tried to kill you…” He chuckles, _giggles,_ “I…I tried to _kill_ you and…and I’m still here. Why?”

 

There is nothing in response.

 

This just makes him laugh harder. He grips the other man’s arm, “You don’t even fucking know…do you? The man that never hesitates to kill; never staggers at a threat…but here _I_ stay… _breathing?”_

Again, silence.

 

Defalt shakes, his hands twitch as he holds him, “You think…because I’m like this…”

 

“I don’t know what to think of this,” He says with the same bluntness he usually carries, “I thought I was done with your tests.”

 

Defalt’s brow creases, “…What?”

 

“It’s getting pretty tedious,” He continues nonchalantly, “I was certain I was done.”

 

The younger man’s thoughts begin to tick back, “You thought this was a test?”

 

“I came here assuming nothing else. If you really _were_ trying to shank me with a kitchen knife…” He reaches over, wiping away tears from his face, “That’s a bit of a turn off, isn’t it?”

 

Defalt stares up at him, feeling a frozen stillness in his heart. How could he…? How _dare_ he try and kill him? How could he lose himself?

 

“It is…” He hears himself agree, “I may have gone too far.”

 

“That’s new for you,” Aiden says, pulling him closer, “Don’t stop. Maybe in a few months you will be relatively normal.”

 

Defalt laughs, leaning deeper into his body, “Blasphemy, Fox.”

 

“Well…without me this could be anarchy.”

 

Another laugh, he can’t help himself. This…this is so _funny._ All this…

 

The younger man twists around, wrapping his legs around Aiden’s waist, running his hands along the curve over his shoulders. The past five minutes have already been eaten alive by his current desires, being forgotten like useless thoughts. He smiles at the older man, “You’re probably right.”  

 

**~WMW~**

Soft electronic music is Aiden’s only company.

 

That, and Defalt’s careful breathing beside him.

 

Tonight was…calmer. No less passion but far less energy to achieve it. The stability is odd to him. Defalt, to most, would be defined as snapped: He himself becoming the controller in those moments that he picked and prodded at his feelings.

 

But the truth pounded about Aiden’s mind. The longer he stayed, the deeper he falls into Defalt’s brilliant madness. Just staying here, coming back proved his pull.

 

But he isn’t going to admit that.

 

The way he responded before…he will most likely never know how he pulled it off. It picked at him. Bit at him. Only a psychopath could truly understand another psychopath’s emotions enough to manipulate him.

 

No…Defalt can’t be changing him that much. That would be ridiculous.

 

“Fox…”

 

Aiden looks back at the small form half covered in the sheets. His eyes aren’t open.

 

“You stayed.” He observes

 

“I felt like it.”

 

“You wanted to.”

 

“Care to murder me over it?”

 

“Well if you’re so inclined,” Defalt drags the covers completely over him, speaking in a sleepy yawn, “Make coffee and I’ll poison it for you.”

 

Aiden smirks slowly, slipping out of the bed, “I’m sure you’ll forget by the time I make it.”

 

Defalt’s laugh echoes as he leaves the room, “I will. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So.  
> Don't really know what to say to this one.  
> I'd like to thank Glenarvon for helping me think of this next installment. Thanks a lot bruh <3 <3 <3  
> Anyway, like and comment if you enjoyed it, have a nice day!


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